


i don't like that falling feels like flying

by nabrina



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Another Candle Spell — this one works about as well (not at all), F/M, Mentions of Past!Habrina, Romantic Fluff, Strangers to Lovers, but I don't really develop them sorry not sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28405737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nabrina/pseuds/nabrina
Summary: Sabrina Spellman refuses to fall in love after her heart is broken by the very mortal her family warned her against. In a fit of desperation, she envisions her perfect partner, an impossible creation — knowing that she’ll never love anyone who isn’t him.Ten years later and Sabrina, now a powerful witch in her own right, is comfortably settled in Greendale. Only to meet Nicholas Scratch, that impossible man in question.
Relationships: Nicholas Scratch/Sabrina Spellman
Comments: 26
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a hot minute since i wrote something for fun, but with p4 looming (so close now) and this idea bouncing around in my head: i present a small fic inspired by practical magic, healing second loves, and my darlings tasha & everyone from nabrination. 
> 
> also, apologies for the probably dreadful spell translations. sometimes you just gotta wing it.

Sabrina was so certain her witch half would overpower the mortal half, rendering her heart a stronger organ; incapable of breaking. 

Harvey Kinkle had proven her wrong. 

_“I’m sorry, Brina.”_

_Two years of holding hands, of sharing secret smiles during class, of first times and those that never came to pass. They’d been good times, there was no denying it. She’d said those three words over and over again and for so long, she'd meant them._

_But as her milkshake melted at Cee’s, he’d taken it all back._

The door to the Spellman house, and mortuary, flew open with a crash. Salem was startled from his slumber on the nearest couch, golden eyes seeking out the one responsible. However, she didn’t so much as grumble in response. 

“Dove?” Came Hilda’s soothing, maternal voice as she poked her head out from the kitchen. “Sabrina?” 

A flash of white hair and red coat was the only response, for she was already up the stairs and in her room before Hilda could have said her name again. 

It would take three attempts, a hot chocolate, Salem’s incessant meowing at her bedroom door, and finally Ambrose Spellman demanding an explanation for Sabrina to say it aloud. 

* * *

“A mortal boy broke up with her.” Zelda’s cool voice carried, at the best of times, but especially when she was incensed. “A mortal sees my niece upstairs, in hiding? Despicable.” 

Sabrina sank onto the bottom step and sniffled, hearing the telltale rustle of a newspaper being shaken. 

“Auntie Z.” Ambrose said, slowly, “This is Harvey Kinkle we’re talking about. He’s not exactly a new thorn in your side, but surely you know how heartbroken Sabrina must be.” 

“I don’t understand it, but yes, Ambrose. I’m not entirely out of the loop when it comes to the boy. May I speak my mind in my own kitchen or not?” 

There came a huff and Sabrina’s lips twitched when she recognized it as Hilda. 

“Now. No more of this talk.” She hissed, “I won’t have you both spoiling our breakfast.” 

Sensing it was safe, Sabrina stood and walked into the kitchen with a partially feigned yawn. 

“Morning, darling.” Hilda swept her into a tight hug before she could so much as open her mouth. 

“Morning, aunty.” She murmured, closing her eyes for a moment and squeezing right back. “Auntie Z. Ambrose.” 

“Sabrina.” Ambrose said, his tone erring on sickly sweet. 

After being peppered with questions the previous night, Sabrina eyed him cautiously and sank into her seat. 

“How did you sleep?” Hilda asked over her shoulder, spatula back in hand like it was permanently attached. Sabrina wouldn’t have doubted it in the slightest, had she not known better. 

“Not terribly.” She answered, wetting her lips. “How about you, aunties? Cousin?” 

“Well, I’d have slept better had I not been awoken by an incensed witch at Satan knows what hour.” Ambrose had only just got the words out of his mouth when Hilda’s eyes narrowed and Zelda sighed. 

“Enough out of you.” Zelda pursed her lips, before looking at her niece. “I’ll have a special brew made at the Academy, just for you, Sabrina. There will be no more tears under my roof because of—” 

Hilda cleared her throat loudly. 

“Yes, yes.” Zelda waved her hand, cigarette holder clasped firmly, “I know, sister. May I eat now?” 

Sabrina’s heart clenched painfully and she sighed, looking down at the table with resignation. 

* * *

The brew had worked, in most ways. There was no longer a persistent ache at the memory of Harvey explaining that he just ‘couldn’t do the witch thing’, nor at Roz’ suggestion that maybe he was right. Sabrina knew that Roz meant well, and was probably right, but it made their conversation no easier. 

Each morning, she felt a bit brighter. 

A bit more like herself. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

Love was a fickle beast, she knew that from Zelda’s failed romance with Faustus Blackwood, from Hilda’s own long journey to find Cee. 

That was to mention nothing of Ambrose’s confusing relationship with Prudence. 

Sabrina wasn’t quite seventeen, hadn’t yet seen her first year after her Dark Baptism, and yet she knew enough of love. 

It wasn’t for her. 

* * *

She found the spell in the Academy’s library. Cassius, whose presence was usually helpful, was an unfortunate and embarrassing witness to Sabrina’s attempts to find it. 

Love spells, or the opposite of, were common practice by young witches and warlocks. For that reason, and others, they weren’t easily found. Nothing to discourage meddling like simply tucking the tempting spells out of sight. 

For once, Faustus Blackwood’s incompetence benefited Sabrina directly. 

The book was heavy and covered in a thick coat of dust which tickled her nose as she carried it to the nearest table. 

It would be the most she’d actually studied all year. 

* * *

A pink candle, to represent love, and a blue to represent protection. 

Sabrina set them on her desk and waved a hand dismissively in Salem’s direction. 

“Oh, hush. Unless you plan to help me, you can sit there and be quiet. Okay?” 

Salem meowed, lowering his head to his paws. 

“Thought as much,” Sabrina muttered, before looking to the list again, “Tie the wicks together, creating a seamless connection between them.” 

She pursed her lips, a near mirror image of her aunt Zelda, and carefully twisted the wicks together. It took a moment, but when she was content with the result, she grinned. “See, Salem? Easy.” 

Salem sighed, shifting so his head was facing out her window instead. 

“I _know_ that was the easy part. I was teasing you.” 

Silence greeted her and Sabrina hummed contentedly, turning back to the task at hand. 

“Here we go.” 

Sabrina clicked her fingers and when the short flame appeared, she lowered them to the wicks. A pleasant smell filled her room and she sank onto her stool, feet balancing on the bar beneath. 

_“_ _Mea_ _custodiat_ _cor t_ _uum_ _.”_ Her eyes closed and she laid both of her palms flat on her desk, _“Ego_ _custodiat_ _cor t_ _uum._ Protect my heart and I will protect yours.” She repeated, “I call upon Hecate, maiden, mother and crone.” 

The flame flickered and Sabrina’s eyes flew open at the movement, a small smile gracing her features. 

“I need someone to keep my heart safe.” It was so simple a sentence, but so heavy a request. Sabrina knew this, but her voice grew stronger. “And in return, I will keep his safe too.” 

“Let him be a kind, smart warlock. He will know my heart, like I know his. He will hear my call a mile away and won’t hesitate to be by my side.” She murmured to the candle, as if sharing a secret with the wax and flame, “He will whistle my favourite song when he’s thinking. He’ll love sweets and Halloween and horror movies as much as I do.” 

She swallowed, her eyes watering. 

“He will love both sides of me. When the time is right, if it is right, and not before then.” 

Her door opened and Ambrose’s head poked through the gap, his brows lowered. 

“What the Heaven are you doing, cousin?” 

“Summoning up a true love spell.” 

“What?” Ambrose sauntered into her room without invitation, startling Salem from his comfortable position at the end of Sabrina’s bed. “Sabrina, I thought your whole thing was _never_ falling in love again?” 

“Yes, and that’s why I’m summoning a boy who doesn’t exist. Can’t exist. If he doesn’t exist, I’ll never fall again.” 

“That sounds like you’re tempting fate.” 

Sabrina looked at him over her shoulder and shook her head, “I’m getting to the specifics, the things that will ensure that he can’t be out there.” 

“Like?” 

“He has warm eyes, not the brown of Harvey’s, but the brown of my favourite boots, of Cee’s hot chocolate. He’ll read, a lot, and be wiser than his years. His smile will be dangerous, familiar. He’ll be wicked, in all the best ways.” 

“Is that all?” Ambrose drawled, elbows resting on his knees. 

The question had a lump forming in her throat, “No. He won’t leave just because he’s afraid.” 

“That isn’t an impossible feat, Sabrina.” Ambrose’s tone grew serious and he leaned forwards. “There will be others, who love you twice as much as you love them. You have so much time, I promise you.” 

“Maybe.” Sabrina’s eyes were drawn back to the candles, “Besides, who knows... Maybe the spell is a crock.” 

She leaned in and blew it out in one breath. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicholas Scratch isn't a stranger to loss, but he is to love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! hope you enjoy x

On a dreary winter night, a young, dark-haired warlock sat on the window seat in his bedroom. A book laid, forgotten, on his lap and he drew shapes into the condensation that lay thick upon the glass. Nothing, not even a howl sounding in the distance, could make Nicholas Scratch question his safety. 

* * *

That was until everything was a threat. 

His parents were dead. A powerful witch and warlock, dead well before their respective times. There was smoke and fire. His eyes burned and watered as he was swept up, clutched close to coarse fur. 

The last Nicholas saw of his family home, it was in flames. His heart clenched at the thought of his father’s books and his mother’s many ingredients being engulfed in them. Turned to ash like they were nothing. 

He closed his eyes and pressed his face into Amalia with a sob. 

She ran. 

* * *

Amalia scrounged what she could for them to eat, but it was far from enough. 

Vegetables stolen from gardens that neither of them had any right to be in, haphazardly washed in streams, and eaten raw. They provided the bare minimum and Nicholas would have sooner eat his own arm than eat a carrot ever again, yet he managed to choke them down all the same. If he slowed, a wet nose would nudge at his arm until he begrudgingly took another bite. Clean water was harder to find, with those streams fewer and farther between the further they got from home. 

Every handful felt like a miracle and when it rained, it was a gift. 

He was growing, slowly but surely, and the lankiness of his limbs only worsened. His elbows and knees jutted out at sharp angles, not in the once endearing fashion of his first growth spurt, instead out of malnourishment. Dirt found its home on his face and under his nails, blood quickly followed suit. 

It would be months before he saw a proper bed again, before he felt warm water cascade over his dark curls and was truly clean. By then, all his softness had hardened by the rough and dreary life he’d led. 

* * *

“What do you like to do for fun, young Nicholas?” 

The school he’d been sent to had resorted to mortal methods. Cooed comfort did little to urge him to speak, but it was better than nothing. The boy’s only company for months had been his wolf familiar; it was a wonder he could speak at all. Nick could recognise the pity in Father Astrophel’s eyes, even as he knelt beside him and placed a comforting hand on his back. 

Nick felt his throat tighten, as if he’d swallowed a stone, and he looked away. 

It became a habit of his. 

But while he wasn’t a conversationalist, he was a brilliant student. 

He’d spend his days exceeding expectations, excelling where all expected him to fail. At night, reading paperbacks with cracked spines and avoiding the conversations that led to friendships eased his aching heart. He had no need of friends. Amalia had been his only friend, his only family, for months and without her — it all seemed for naught. 

He had himself for company, that would be enough. 

* * *

The solitude meant fantastic grades and by twelve, he could conjure what even his teachers couldn’t. Nicholas strived for perfection in all his exploits and every moment he wasn’t in class, he was studying. Tomes that had long gathered thick layers of dust found a new home in his dorm room, shoved beneath his bed, piled atop his bedside drawers, or tucked away in the lone chest they’d salvaged from the Scratch estate. 

He was complimented on his dedication by professors, side-eyed by his classmates, but was ultimately ignorant to both. 

For the first time in years, his life was peaceful. Safe. 

For now, that’s all he wanted. 

* * *

As time passed, it became clear. 

Nicholas Scratch didn’t believe in love. 

For all the romantic movies and songs that mortals peddled to the masses, he knew better. Witches and warlocks didn’t have the capacity — power and potential took up whatever space love would. 

He didn’t mind so much. After all, his lone wolf streak continued as he grew up and filled out, healing from his time with Amalia bit by bit. His biggest concern was sleeping well, eating better, and studying hard. 

* * *

He never took note of the day he stopped being called Nicholas, but he would have found it coincided with his first friend. A smart, but distracted witch whose focus was alchemy, she had never once thought to call him by his full name. 

Instead, he was Nick. Smart, funny, and tormented Nick who sat in the front of every class and hadn’t been told off for talking _once_. 

The name caught on quickly and soon, all had decided Nicholas Alexander Scratch was just too much. 

Nick Scratch suited the dark haired, brooding boy far better. 

* * *

The ambivalence towards relationships lasted another three years, but cracked beneath the weight of his first real crush. 

It wasn’t expected, but the second he arrived at an academy in Pennsylvania (having deemed his previous academy not challenging enough) and saw him, his heart fluttered. His name was sharp, not unlike his green eyes, but was forgotten in time. In the years since, Nick would only remember his auburn curls and the freckles that covered his face. 

With a calm certainty, Nick knew was that he didn’t just like girls, not by a long shot. 

Love still didn’t faze him as he kissed that boy and another, a few girls, and a non-binary friend he’d made without realising it. His hard edges softened, day by day, and he began to let others in. 

Love was for the mortals, yes, but affection was for anyone. He found that he enjoyed the warmth of another hand against his arm, on his thigh, at his cheek. He enjoyed teasing and using his words to draw a pretty blush from a person he admired. Most of all, Nick enjoyed getting to be himself. The Nick he hadn’t known still existed. 

It was comforting to know that while he hadn’t found home, Nick could still mean something. 

* * *

His powers grew as he got closer to his Dark Baptism and the promise of more made him salivate. Not since he’d been a child had he held such hope in his heart. 

Power equaled strength and strength would save him. From Amalia, from his parents’ fate, from the endless fear that he wasn’t enough. 

Even as his familiar circled, obsessed with reclaiming the boy she’d come to identify as her son, Nick never doubted his ability to protect himself. 

* * *

His suspicions were proven one dreary night, as he left the safety of the Academy to attend a party. It was thrown by local mortals and he’d been lured out by classmates. He was nearing seventeen, nearing the first year after his Dark Baptism. In that time, he’d found his appetites growing at a near insatiable rate. For power, for knowledge, and for the carnal. 

Sadly, not everyone was pleased with it. 

“You’re an asshole, Nick Scratch.” 

“I’m sorry, Dahlia.” Nick reached out a hand and reeled back when she glared at him. 

“My name is Delia.” 

“Shit.” He ran a hand through his hair, “Delia.” 

She’d already stormed off, disappearing into the crowd of teenagers with red cups in hand, and leaving the smell of jasmine in her wake. 

Nick deflated, toasting himself and tossing the drink back in one gulp. 

Then, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He’d made himself comfortable in the backyard of a girl called Casey, forgetting that by doing so it left him out in the open. 

Leaves crunched beneath Amalia’s feet and she growled, low and slow, as if wanting to ensure he heard her. 

“’Mal.” Nick said, turning slowly. “Please.” 

Her teeth were bared as she growled again, a long strand of drool hanging from her mouth. 

Nick felt his eyes water and he looked away, extending his hand to rest on her muzzle. 

“I’m sorry for leaving you.” He murmured, “I didn’t know what else to do. There was nothing I _could_ do.” 

Then, without hesitation, he delivered his most difficult incantation. Not for the skill required, but for the strength of heart it needed. 

“I banish you, Amalia, and I bind you, from doing harm to yourself or others.” Nick stepped back, crossing his forearms, _“Ut_ _vos_ _revertetur_ _in_ _terram_ _suam_ _,_ _ibi_ _manebo_ _.”_ **When you return home, may you stay there.**

Amalia lunged, only to disappear in a cloud of grey. Nick gasped, his hand clutching at his chest as he finally felt the bond break. For years it had lingered, tugging at him from time to time. Now, he would feel nothing, except a wave of sadness as he fell to his knees. 

The party continued on without him. 

* * *

A month later he was studying, the usual practice once classes had finished. Nothing was out of the ordinary and for the first time since he’d been a child, Nick felt normal. As normal as a warlock could. He turned the page, quill raised, when a warm, hazy feeling settled over him like a blanket. Nick frowned as his mouth grew dry, then suddenly, came a sweet taste. 

Like cake. 

He blinked, looking around hesitantly, waiting for a classmate to reveal themselves as the culprit. It was a prank, surely. 

His grades were the best in class and someone wanted to throw him off his game. 

But laughter never came and Nick slumped back in his seat, confused and hungry for something sweet. 

* * *

Nick didn’t wander into the mortal neighbourhoods by his academy often. He’d been there for two years and the desire to rarely struck. But he’d always loved the smell of popcorn and he’d never pass up hearing mortals scream as blood splattered the silver screen. 

“Have a nice night.” 

“Thanks.” 

Nick smiled as he turned on his heel, popcorn in hand and straw in his mouth. His wallet stayed in his pocket, no lighter than it had been that morning. It was an upside to being what he was. Mortals never saw it coming when he batted his eyelashes and grinned. 

* * *

As time passed, Nick didn’t once question what had brought that strange feeling years ago. In fact, he had quite forgotten it had ever occurred. 

That was until he received a letter. 

_Dear Mr. Scratch,_

_It is with great respect and upmost interest that I, High Priestess Zelda Spellman, offer you a position at the Academy of Unseen Arts in Greendale. A recent vacancy has brought to light the ways in my students could benefit from a skill such as yours. If you are so willing, I’d love to discover the terms of your employment next Friday eve at Dorian’s Grey Room, the address to which is enclosed._

_I greatly look forward to meeting you,_

_High Priestess Spellman._

He’d never considered teaching, instead living off of the funds attached to his family’s estate and learning at his own quick pace. He devoured book after book, travelled from one end of the Earth to the other. Nick had lived in cities with thousands of years of history, eaten where poets and authors had dined decades earlier, indulged in art and culture like a man starved. 

But then, something tugged at Nick, not unlike the way in which Amalia had. This was kinder, however. It didn’t urge him to run, it beckoned him closer. Zelda Spellman seemed to be a part of it which left only one option. 

An hour later he had packed his bags and booked a train to Greendale. 


End file.
